


I'm Fine, It's Fine

by Dragon_Writes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: A lot of them - Freeform, I've been reading too many fanfictions the past week, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Nightmares, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker has PTSD, correct me on mistakes please, everyone only really has passing mentions ngl, is anyone surprised honestly this poor kid, it should be duly noted hat I haven't watched these movies either, it's Skip okay what do you expect, so uh, tell me if I need any more tags please!!, that's why this exists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:48:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22831267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_Writes/pseuds/Dragon_Writes
Summary: It's what he always told himself, an internal mantra.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 81





	I'm Fine, It's Fine

**Author's Note:**

> Saying it right now: I am fortunate enough to not have first hand experience with these situations, so please tell me if anything has been misinterpreted!! Also BE SURE TO READ THE TAGS THIS ISN'T A HAPPY FIC
> 
> Stay safe everyone, I promise you're loved and I'm proud of all of you; if you're facing similar situations to Peter please get help, you're deserving of it <3

It was funny, in a way. How despite the extra healing factor the scars still remained, thin lines criss-crossing along his arms down to his wrists, coated by long sleeves as a protective shield. 

The blood soaked through the sleeves sometimes, if he wasn’t careful enough, and he’d anxiously tug at the fabric, positioned to hide the stain because no one needed to know. 

He was fine. It would be fine. 

Fighting was more enjoyable than it should be, something thrilling about receiving a punch to the cheek or occasionally a knife slash across his side. It was comforting in some sick way, the wounds and bruises and pain. It grounded him to reality. 

He ignored Karen’s concerned voice that echoed anytime he was on patrol, that asked to call Mr. Stark at every injury he received but the response was always the same. 

“No I’m fine, it’ll be fine.”

And it was. Of course it was. Even if he did end up limping home in the dark, even if May’s frightened calls when he was late hurt more than any punch to the gut he’d gotten, he still insisted the simple fact that he. Was. Fine. 

Ned asked about it once. Why his sleeves were always drawn right down to his palms, why he’d become even more reclusive and jumpy. 

“Are you okay, Pete?”

“Of course, I always am.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, as though he’d lied straight to his best friend’s face, but he hadn’t. He was fine, really he was. 

They continued building their Lego’s in silence, eerily reminiscent of That Day five years before. They didn’t speak of it, never mentioned what he’d told Ned that fateful day, what secret had temporarily disbanded the friendship as Ned told his parents who told May and Ben who told the police. 

He still thought back on that day sometimes, though. What would have happened had he not said anything, had Ned not said anything. Would May and Ben have figured it out, or would the cycle of cold hands and constant tears and “Please don’t,” “No,” “Stop,” have continued forever more?

He tried not to dwell on it. The nightmares followed him to bed anyways. 

Y’know, if someone had told him Tony Stark would turn up in the tiny apartment one fateful day and brought him to Berlin, he probably would have laughed. It happened though, and things had seemingly gone up as a purely business relationship turned to a close bond of inside jokes and snarky comments and late night lab sessions. 

Mr. Stark wasn’t the most observant with people though. He’d joke as normal and make passing comments about his withdrawn attitude as of late, but he never outright said anything. 

Thank the stars for that, because there was nothing to be said anyways. Because he was fine. It was all still fine. 

He pretended not to flinch when Mr. Stark brushes against a new wound, still not fully healed under the cotton sleeve. It had been 24 hours. It should be healed by now. 

He’d be more concerned if he had the energy. 

He was just tired. That was it. Tired. Tired of what he didn’t know, but that’s all that was wrong. He was fine, just tired. 

A voice in the back of his head whispered that this wasn’t how it was supposed to be like. He shouted over it that this is all he’s ever known since age four, so he should be used to it. The voice stopped. 

It was stupid, he knew, somewhere in the back of his head. Seeking out pain wasn’t normal, having scars up and down his arms wasn’t normal, heaving panicked breaths when he saw hair that was just too blond and a grin that was too easy wasn’t normal, but since when had he been normal?

No, he’d continue on as always. Even with the concerned glances and worried voices and the “you can talk to me, I’m here”’s, he’d brush it all off with an “I’m fine.”

Because it was. It had to be. It had to be.


End file.
